The Spell
by irishwoodkern
Summary: Stood up by their respective dates, Crane and Abbie share a dance that changes everything. A series based on my current sad feelings and frustrations with the show. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

Abbie smoothed her sleek hair over one shoulder and glanced at the clock once again. This was getting beyond a joke. She had already double-checked the time and location that she had meticulously recorded on her phone: _McKay's Tavern, Saturday 8:30pm_. It was nudging 9:15 and there was still no call from James.

She had tried to manage her expectations from the start. After all, it had been a while since Luke and, given her divinely-appointed role as Witness, her love life had been pretty much non-existent since then. However, something clicked in her the moment she bumped into James in the Emergency Ward.

She had just questioned a woman who claimed that a demon tried to pull her from her stalled car on the turnpike. He was coming out of surgery, where he had just reattached the arm of a chef who'd tangled with a mincer and lost. The attraction was instantaneous. Somehow talking to him felt so natural, so right. It had been a long time since she had had a conversation with someone that didn't involve demons and witches and Apocalyptic dealings.

Truth to tell, she was done being the intermediary between Crane and his wife. For weeks now, she had swallowed her doubts and misgivings about Katrina in an attempt to be supportive. Despite all of her deceptions, Crane still felt an abiding need to make his marriage work. Without the hope of a future with Katrina, he felt rootless and lost in the twenty-first century.

For all that Abbie had supported him, both financially and emotionally, she knew that she could not give him the help that he needed. For now, at least for tonight, she needed to think about herself.

Even as she put on her highest heels and dolled herself up, she couldn't help worrying about Crane. He was helping to organise the Re-enactment Society's Spring Ball, and she knew that he was looking forward to attending with Katrina. A taste of life in their former times would surely help to reset their emotional trajectory and repair the ties between them.

As she sat in the bar, nursing her second whiskey and water, she felt a horrible sense of inevitability. Every glimpse she got of a normal life seemed to be illusory. Every time something potentially new or unexpected entered her field of vision, it turned out to be either a threat or a disappointment.

What had happened to her life? Her Mama would surely be shaking her head if she could see her now, sitting in a bar by herself, stood up by the one viable date she had had in months.

Her God-given appointment seemed like nothing so much as a poisoned chalice. She could not deny that the only spot of light or hope in the darkness and doubt that enveloped her life was Crane. Despite everything else, his friendship was her only source of consolation.

Her phone buzzed, and Abbie didn't need to check the screen to know who it would be.

'Hey, James,' she answered smoothly, not betraying her irritation.

'Abbie! I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier – you have no idea.'

The tiredness and strain was evident in his voice and Abbie's annoyance melted away on the spot. There had been a three car pile-up on the interstate and an entire family had been brought into the ER. He had been on his feet for eighteen hours straight and there was no end in sight.

'Look, Abbie. I shouldn't have even asked you out to begin with. My life is a trainwreck now that I'm a resident. I barely have time to sleep, let alone have drinks with a beautiful woman. I'm not blowing you off, I swear…'

'James,' Abbie broke in. 'To be honest, my life is a total disaster too. I thought I could have a night off from it, but I guess I was looking in the wrong place.'

As Abbie hung up, she felt a strange sense of calm. The world was full of people struggling with all their might to do good – she wasn't the only one. She walked out of the bar, intending to take the short-cut home but found herself irresistibly drawn towards the Town Hall where the Re-enactment Society ball was taking place.

The candle-lit rooms and sounds of music wafting from within were so inviting that she couldn't resist taking a closer look. The interior of the hall was lavishly decorated with freshly-cut flowers and greenery. Everything looked authentic, from the bewigged footmen to the costumed quartet playing quadrilles and minuets.

Her eyes swept the room, trying to locate Crane and Katrina amongst the corseted and powdered couples. She felt a sudden sting that she had not been invited. As goofy as the whole event had seemed to her, it was infinitely preferable to sitting in a bar by herself.

She dismissed the idea as nonsensical. She was not Katrina, and as baffling as the thought was, the only person who would make the night enjoyable was Crane.

'Abbie?'

She turned and saw him standing five feet away from her. Her heart swelled with something like pride when she saw him dressed in his finery, his hair pulled back in a single queue. He seemed confounded to see her, and Abbie was struck with the unpleasant realisation that she might not be welcome.

'Hey, Crane.' Her voice was cheerful, hiding her discomposure. 'I was just passing, so I stuck my head in the door how you crazy colonials like to party.'

'Oh, I…' He seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. 'Everything seems to be advancing according to plan. How was your evening?'

'It was a non-starter. My date didn't show up.'

A strange look flitted across his face – a combination of irritation and something else, something Abbie was afraid to probe too deeply.

'That is unfortunate. You look very lovely.'

Abbie felt herself blushing furiously, even though Crane surely meant the compliment as nothing more than everyday gallantry. 'Thank you. How is Katrina – is she having a good time?'

Crane's expression darkened. 'Katrina was unable to come this evening. She was suffering from a headache.'

_Sure. _Abbie thought bitterly. _Spending time with her favourite ex-fiancé and minion of darkness_.

'Oh,' Abbie replied, unable to form a more coherent response.

'It seems we are both without partners this evening,' he said thoughtfully. 'Would you care to dance with me?'

'Um, I don't think I'm dressed for the part. And all that mincing and shuffling isn't exactly what I call dancing.'

Crane smiled broadly and Abbie felt a jolt inside.

'I'm well aware what this generation considers to be dancing. However, I believe the next dance is the waltz, which you cannot possibly be unfamiliar with.'

With a combination of trepidation and excitement, Abbie clasped his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be lead to the dance floor. She couldn't resist smiling as Crane dipped low into an elaborate bow. She responded with an awkward curtsey as the music swelled around them.

Suddenly, the night that had begun so disastrously had become something else, something almost magnificent.

* * *

><p>A touch of the glamour that had surrounded them throughout the dance still clung to them as Crane walked her back to her house. Try as she might, Abbie was unable to stop grinning.<p>

She was tempted to speak, to express the immense joy she felt at being in his company. It was as if a spell had been cast, banishing her fear and loneliness forever.

As soon they reached her front door, she knew that the magic could not last. Crane was still a married man and her partner, and whatever they felt that night, his loyalty would always be to his marriage, to Katrina.

With all of those thoughts swimming through her mind, she was astonished when Crane took her hand and gently kissed it.

'Crane, I…'

'Please, Miss Mills.' His voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. 'Do not tell me what I already know is true.'

He gazed at her intensely for what seemed an eternity. 'In a few moments, I must return home to a wife for whom I have lost much of my former esteem, to a marriage which may be unsalvageable. Grant me this one moment of happiness.'

Abbie felt tears stinging her eyes. It was as if, for the first time, they weren't speaking in code to one another. Everything was laid bare in the pallor of the moonlight.

'This isn't fair. You have someone at least. What do I get?'

The unfathomable tenderness in Crane's eyes made her heart ache. 'What does either one of us get, except the shadow of the thing we crave the most?'

Abbie knew in that moment the truth that she had been running from. The sense of frustration and despair that she had felt in the bar all came back to this – the unnameable thing that lay between them.

'Grant me this, Abigail. Allow me to say that I have never beheld anything – neither graven image nor woman born – as beautiful as you are at this moment.'

She wanted to cry, but more than that she wanted to punch him. _Damn Katrina and her lies, damn Crane and his weakness._

She looked deep into his eyes and saw herself reflected in them, and knew that it would never be over between them. As sure as the approaching Apocalypse was the inescapable love she felt for Ichabod Crane.

As she reached for him, she knew they were both damned.


	2. Chapter 2

**It didn't take much arm-twisting for this to change from a one-shot to a going concern. Thanks to all my reviewers – I'm floored by your kind words.**

Crane knew that he was damned; he knew it from the second that his lips touched Abbie's. He remembered each moment with perfect clarity – the unquenchable hunger that battled with the sickening fear in his heart, the exhilaration he felt when he saw the same struggle reflected in Abbie's eyes.

Then all doubt was quenched in the cool of her lips.

It was tentative at first, gentle and sweetly innocent, but her arms quickly snaked around his neck and her small, soft body pressed against his. The recollection of how snugly she fit in the span of his arms was agonising.

He was a scoundrel, a villain of the lowest order. A married man making love to another woman – he despised himself. Yet, as Abbie's teeth tugged insistently at his lower lip and she moaned her pleasure into his mouth, he knew that there was nothing in the world that could make him stop.

Crane as suddenly aware that they had reached the Rubicon – the point of no return. If they continued on with this, it could shatter all they had built forever. Their friendship and partnership would surely be untenable, and his marriage… good God, his marriage…

It was Abbie who broke first.

'Oh my God, what are we doing?' she whispered, pulling away.

Crane could not speak for grief. His heart was faced with an ineluctable dilemma – he had resisted this attraction for so long, clinging tightly to the vows and dreams of another life. Now, unexpectedly, he had found all he ever wanted in the form of Lieutenant Abbie Mills.

Try as he might, he could not summon up the enchantment that had once comforted him whenever he thought of Katrina. Her image no longer inspired him with warmth and longing; too much doubt and mistrust lingered between them.

As sure as he was of anything, he knew that Abbie had overthrown Katrina in his heart.

* * *

><p>Monday morning arrived, and the sense of guilt and self-loathing that had plagued him all weekend had not abated. Not only had he broken his marriage vows, but he had done it with the kindest and best person he knew. Worse than that, more painful than his sin was the knowledge than she had rejected him. Crane was sure Abbie held him in even more contempt than he felt for himself.<p>

She entered the Archives, looking no less exquisite in his eyes than she had when he had first beheld her that night.

Crane clambered to his feet, ready to bare his soul and beg for her forgiveness. He would pledge anything, perform any feat of penance to retrieve their precious friendship. He would even live out his days in a loveless marriage if she asked him to.

Abbie held her hand up to arrest his speech. 'Before you say anything, I think we should forget about what happened on Saturday. Whatever we felt then, it's impossible…'

She kept her eyes rooted on her hands. Each word was recited with cool precision as if from a script.

'I was upset. James stood me up and you made me feel special – that's all. You and the night and the moonlight and all the rest.' She was rambling now, struggling to reign in her rehearsed speech.

'You're married,' she concluded, 'and I refuse to be the other woman. So let's forget about it.'

'No,' he replied, surprising himself. He had spent the previous thirty-six hours contemplating similar thoughts, despising himself more with every moment that passed. He always depended on Abbie to make him see sense, to argue him out of his moods with logic and sheer bloody-mindedness. To hear her speak to him in such a detached way was infuriating.

'No what?' Abbie's face bore an expression of implacable calm that only incensed him more.

'I shall not forget it. Tell me, if Katrina were not a factor in this, would you have pulled away?'

A trace of annoyance flitted across her face and her volume increased a notch. 'She is a factor – I can't believe we're even arguing about this! You have a wife, Crane.'

'But I want you.' The moment the words escaped him, Crane realised how petulant they sounded. Like a child, he thought that wanting something was enough to make it happen.

'You want me?' Abbie raised an eyebrow. 'You mean you want to sleep with me.'

'Yes!' he replied with more vehemence than he intended. 'Yes, I want to sleep with you, Abbie,' he continued, softer, his words tumbling unstoppably from his lips. 'And I want to wake up with you, and I want to labour by your side every day in the knowledge that you feel as I feel, that we belong to each other.'

Abbie's inscrutable expression began to crumble as he spoke. She wanted to stop him, but at the same time she needed to hear more.

'I want to build a house for you, and fill it with our children. I want to make promises to you, and live to see them fulfilled. I want to know that I can be lucky twice in my life… That is what I mean when I say I want you, Grace Abigail Mills. I mean body and soul, forever.'

He breathed heavily after his outburst. In the silence that surrounded them, he felt like a fool, like he had destroyed everything more completely than before.

A tear escaped her lashes and rolled down her cheek. It was as if she stood on a knife-edge, hovering between ecstasy and despair.

'But Katrina…' she uttered.

'Yes, Katrina,' Crane replied, his eyes never leaving hers. 'Katrina must be told, and she will be. But only…'

He paused, fear creeping across his face like a demon in the night. 'Only if you love me too.'

Abbie flung herself into his arms, and the spell was cast anew.


	3. Chapter 3

Crane's cheeks burned as he strode down the quiet country lane – a combination of the warmth of the day and the abiding memory of Abbie's lips upon his. She had offered him a ride to the cabin, but he knew that close proximity to her in the confines of the car would be too much of a temptation.

They had spent a blissful morning on one of the hard-backed seats in the Archives, just holding each other and stealing indulgent kisses. Eventually, Crane had to tear himself away from her, knowing that he could not trust himself to stay.

He was well aware of the enormity of the step he was about to take. Ending a marriage was not a task to be taken lightly. He felt a deep sense of sadness and waste when he thought of the life he had shared with Katrina. It had once been the anchor of his life, a safe harbour away from the horrors of war.

Just as he was forever separated from his friends and comrades-in-arms, it had slowly dawned on his that he was irrevocably divided from Katrina. Suddenly and with a violence that shuddered his soul, his heart had been struck with love for another woman.

Abbie represented everything that was good about the twenty-first century. All the things that had once seemed so confusing and contradictory about her were now proof of her superiority over all other women. She was strong yet feminine, fearless yet oddly vulnerable, and despite her formidable exterior she was gifted with a tender and generous heart.

It frightened him to realise how utterly smitten he was with her. He had once been similarly enraptured with Katrina, but Abbie was no prize to be won, no jewel to be protected. Abbie was his equal – the partner of his present and future.

He heaved a great breath before opening the door of the cabin and stepping inside. The first sight that met his eyes was Katrina's face – so innocent and lovely. She so closely resembled the woman he had first fallen in love with that his heart almost stopped.

It was only then that he saw that she wasn't alone. Sitting on the floor in front of her was a woman that Crane faintly recognised from one of the History Society's soirées. Candles were lit around the interior of the cabin.

'My love,' Katrina uttered, her eyes wild with shock. 'You remember Sapphire McQueen, don't you?'

Crane bowed to the middle-aged woman, her hair dyed a shocking red. 'Enchanted.'

He turned his attention to Katrina, a hint of suspicion creeping through his mind. He felt as though he was interrupting something. 'Might we speak in private, Katrina?'

Sapphire pulled on her jacket and headed for the door. 'I'll leave you two alone. The children will be waiting for their dinner.'

'Katrina,' Crane began as soon as the door closed behind the departing woman. 'There is something very serious that I have to say to you.'

Katrina closed the distance between them and reached out to touch his face. Crane spun away from her way, trying to think clearly.

'You cannot be unaware of how sorely our marriage has been tested since your release from Purgatory. I have struggled with your lack of candour regarding your pregnancy, your bent for witchcraft, Mary's unfortunate fate, and most of all your ongoing association with Abraham…'

'How many times must I explain my actions to you, Ichabod? Everything I have done has been in service of our mission…'

Crane held up a hand. 'I do not wish to argue, Katrina. We have spent so much time trying to unravel the snare that has woven in our marriage. We are both weary of it.'

'What are you saying?' Katrina sounded frightened. 'That you no longer love me?'

'I fear not, Katrina.'

A look of anger crossed her features. 'It's Abigail, isn't it?'

'It is. I love her, Katrina. I do not know how long I have harboured these feelings, but I know that I cannot continue to live with you.'

Katrina stood slumped in a posture of defeat. 'I feared this would happen. When I first saw the strength of your bond with her, I knew I could not compete. Does she feel as you do?'

'I believe so.'

'And you wish to court her?'

Crane nodded. 'I assure you that we will be discreet.'

'Discreet? After all those years of marriage, everything have suffered for your sake – the pains of Purgatory, captivity, being separated from our son – the best I can hope for is discretion?'

There was an unpleasant note of malice in Katrina's voice, something Crane did not recognise as belonging to his wife. 'What else do you ask for?' he asked.

* * *

><p>Abbie entered the Archives with a swing in her step. She had spent the past two hours in a gruelling traffic jam coming back from a domestic dispute on the edge of town. Despite the monotony of non-supernatural police work, she could not stop herself from smiling.<p>

For the first time – perhaps ever – she felt a profound sense of optimism about the future. She loved Crane; it was strange that something so obvious had gnarled her up in confusion for months. What was even more incredible was the realisation that he loved her too.

Crane sat straight-backed at the table, apparently lost in thought. He started in surprise as Abbie planted a kiss on his cheek and plonked herself down beside him.

'Hey.'

'Good evening, my love. You find me much troubled.'

Alarm bells rang in Abbie's mind. Deep inside, she knew that whether Crane was about to say could not be good. She braced herself for impact. 'You spoke to Katrina?'

Crane nodded tersely. 'She did not take it well. I am afraid you will not be best pleased with me.'

'Why?' Abbie's unease grew with every moment that passed.

Crane avoided her eyes as he spoke, keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him. 'I mean to honour all the promises I made to you this morning. In order to achieve that, I must extricate myself from Katrina in an honourable manner.'

'What does that mean exactly?' she asked with as much calm as she could muster.

There was a tense moment of silence as he considered his answer. 'Katrina asked me not to pursue a relationship with you until our mission was completed.'

'She did what?' Abbie realised that her voice had reached an almost inhuman pitch, but she couldn't have cared less. 'You told her where she could go, right?'

'I thought it best not to unduly antagonise her, seeing that we must ally ourselves with her against the forces of evil.'

Abbie jumped to her feet, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. 'You agreed to it?'

'No! Of course of I refused. I agreed that we would be discreet, but nothing more.'

This was small comfort to Abbie. In that moment, she was tempted to storm out of the Archives and not look back. _To hell with Katrina. To hell with both of them._

'Abbie,' Crane implored. He gestured towards her vacated seat. Reluctantly, she sat down again.

'I do not to move with indecent haste. I wish to court you properly, to honour you in the manner you deserve. I need to be sure that what I feel for you is not tainted with bitterness for Katrina.'

Abbie bristled with indignation. She hated to think that Katrina held any influence over Crane, but as she looked at his helpless expression, she felt her irritation slowly melt away. Much to her chagrin, she understood Crane's need to avoid rushing into a physical relationship. She could not deny him his wish to end his marriage with some kind of decorum.

'So… what you're saying is you wanna take it slow?'

Crane let out a breath that he had been holding. 'Yes, if that is acceptable to you.'

'That means no hanky-panky for a while, huh?' Abbie raised a saucy eyebrow.

He reddened and laughed – a sound that Abbie relished. 'Then you do not mind delaying our… union?'

She grasped his hands in hers. 'As long as you're not doing this because you feel sorry for her. I don't want her playing mind-games with you.'

'I can assure you, I bear no pity for Katrina.'

Abbie toyed with his long fingers, enjoying the contact of skin against skin. 'You do want to though, with me?' she asked shyly. 'I mean, eventually?'

'Desperately.' Crane looked embarrassed, much to Abbie's amusement. 'That is, surely you are aware of how ravishing you are?'

'Ravishing?' Abbie pondered the word. 'I like the sound of that.'

'Indeed.' Crane's breath hitched and his eyes darkened. 'Without being too indelicate, you are almost irresistible.'

Abbie found that she could not tear her eyes away from his lips. 'Almost?' she whispered. 'This whole "taking it slow" thing is going to be tough, because I really want to kiss you right now.'

He leaned towards her. 'Miss Mills, kissing is always permitted between us.'


	4. Chapter 4

Abbie seethed with irritation as she pulled up in front of the cabin. Perhaps it wasn't necessary to sound the horn with quite so much force, but she had slept poorly and the last thing she needed was Crane holding her up.

She heaved a guilty sigh. Crane didn't deserve her ire, not since he had been so damned sweet to her all week.

Every morning, Abbie had arrived at work to find a fresh token of affection deposited on her desk. One day it was a piping-hot cappuccino with a shot of vanilla, just the way she liked it. The next morning, she found a freshly-cut primrose – she had once mentioned in passing that it was her favourite flower. The day before, she discovered a sonnet written in Crane's beautiful hand, paying flowery tribute to her eyes.

She had to laugh at that one. Crane was many things, but a poet he was not. She was touched by the gesture nonetheless, imagining all the thought and effort he had put into it. She realised that she quite liked being courted eighteenth-century style. When it came to relationships, she usually preferred to be in control, but she found that there was something incredibly sexy about anticipation.

A woman only had so much patience, though. Last night, her frustrations manifested themselves in powerful dreams, full of Crane. She could practically feel his lips and hands ghosting over her skin. His body was intoxicating; its unfamiliar angles and planes were a territory that she longed to claim.

The one thing that was standing in her way was Katrina. As much as she knew that Crane needed time to mourn his marriage, it was hard to be patient when she was so sure of her own feelings.

Finally, the door opened and Crane stumbled out, pulling on his military-style coat and straightening his hair. He climbed into the car and faced her with such a look of delight that she was slightly taken aback.

'Good morrow, my love. And how are you this fine day?'

Any thought of criticising his tardiness fled when he took her hand and kissed it tenderly.

'A little tired,' she confessed. 'I didn't sleep much.'

'I am sorry to hear that. I slept wonderfully well.'

'Really?' Abbie couldn't help being cheered by his sunny disposition. 'Why was that?'

'I had the most delightful dream. I was awakened from a peaceful slumber by a glorious sound. On emerging from the cabin, I saw a songbird sitting on a tree branch. Its song was clear and deep as a mountain stream and I was struck dumb with happiness. All darkness and gloom were banished from my heart. I was convinced once again that the Earth is vast and beautiful and well worth saving. Then, as if by magic, the bird flew to my outstretched hand. I felt blessed to have found the favour of that songbird, and I knew that I was no longer alone in the world.'

Abbie could barely breathe. She was overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions – gratitude, love, but mostly fear.

From her childhood, love was a volatile concept – one moment making peanut butter sandwiches and singing Billie Holliday, the next throwing kitchen knives past her head. Even as an adult, love was a Molotov cocktail that she tried to keep from blowing up in her face at all costs. She had never let anyone close enough to love her – not until that moment.

All she could do was reach forward and softly stroke his beard. It was all the contact she dared allow herself at that moment, but it was full of the promise of more.

'Come on,' she said eventually. 'We've got work to do.'

* * *

><p>They encountered a scene of horror as soon as they stepped into the clearing. A forestry worker had found the group a little after dawn, lying in a circle where they had fallen. In the centre of the space was the stump of an old oak tree, covered with the waxy remains of candles.<p>

The area was crawling with forensics people and uniformed officers. The first familiar person they saw was Sheriff Reyes, her face a gaunt mask of determination.

'Mills, Crane, thank you for coming.'

Abbie looked around her in some shock, making a mental calculation. 'You said multiple deaths. There must be at least a dozen people here.'

'Fifteen in total, varying in age, gender, background and ethnicity. We found a group of cars at the bottom of the hill – it looks like they travelled here together. We've managed to ID several from driver's licenses but we're running through missing person's reports at the moment.'

Crane surveyed the scene, processing details with his unerring perception. 'Lieutenant Mills informed me that this was a suspected mass-suicide, yet this crime bears the hallmarks of an occult ritual.'

Reyes glanced at the other officers before stepping closer to the pair. 'That's not something we want the public getting wind of. I brought you in because of your expertise in this field. I'm not interested in hearing reports of public disturbances or guns being discharged in underground tunnels. I want you to find who is responsible for this, quickly and cleanly. Understood?'

'Perfectly well, madam.' Crane nodded tersely.

He stepped closer to the tree stump as Sheriff Reyes went to speak to one of her subordinates. Abbie snapped on a pair of latex gloves and lifted the sheet covering one of the bodies.

'God, this girl can't be more than fifteen,' she muttered, kneeling down to examine the body. The teenager was clad head to foot in a dark green hooded robe, but it was her face that caught Abbie's attention.

Her eyes were slightly open, her mouth frozen in a rictus of pain. What was more alarming was the black substance oozing from her nose and mouth. 'Crane?'

'Lieutenant, there seems to be some form of ash on the surface of this tree stump.'

'Ash?' Abbie thought for a moment, before motioning to of one of the forensic techs. 'Can you get a sample of this substance please? Cross-check it with the stuff in their noses and mouths.'

Crane looked sidelong at Abbie. 'You believe that they might have inhaled this ash?'

'Look at their faces, Crane. It looks like they choked on the stuff.'

'The ritualistic setting suggests some form of paganism or modern witchcraft.'

'You think this is a Wiccan ritual gone wrong?' Abbie asked. She shook her head. 'Wiccans have a deep reverence for nature and life – they don't go in for murder.'

'And yet…' Crane examined a trace of the ash he had collected with the blade of his pocket knife. He took on what Abbie had come to know as his "long ago and far away face". 'In ancient times, witches and warlocks were known to practice arboreal magic – tree worship. Certain trees were considered sacred – the hazel for example was considered particularly potent. Ash from these trees was often utilised in healing rituals.'

'But somehow it was used to kill fifteen people. These people suffered, Crane. There was violence and intent involved. Whoever did this intended to kill.'

'Indeed,' Crane said thoughtfully. 'And harnessed the dark arts to do so. There is undoubtedly a powerful practitioner of magic on the loose in Sleepy Hollow.'

There was a knowing look on Abbie's face, one that she scarcely tried to conceal.

'I know what you suspect, Lieutenant, but we must not jump to conclusions…'

'I never said anything. All I know is – there's one surviving witch in Sleepy Hollow.'

As they made their way back to Abbie's car, Crane looked increasingly perturbed. 'You do not think Katrina had any involvement in this crime? She may be many things, but she is not a killer. She has only ever used her powers for good.'

Abbie turned to him. 'Like it or not, we have to talk to her, if only to eliminate her from the investigation.' She stepped close to him and interlaced her fingers with his. 'I'll handle it, Crane. You shouldn't have to deal with this, not when things are so strained between you. Let me do my job.'

'Thank you,' he whispered, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. 'But if you will indulge me, I wish to speak to Katrina alone. Until we find more evidence, her knowledge could prove invaluable. I do not wish to ambush her. Will you allow me this wish, my dear?'

She looked into his pleading eyes and knew that she could not deny him his request. As she climbed into the car, a seed of doubt germinated in the back of her mind. It was not Ichabod that she mistrusted. Call it intuition or the instincts of a seasoned cop, but as she thought back over the crime scene, she suspected that there was something else at work, something dark and unholy at the heart of Sleepy Hollow.

Something that would surely strike again.


	5. Chapter 5

Sapphire McQueen greeted Crane at the door with a look of evident distaste.

'Mr. Crane. How may I help you?'

Though momentarily taken aback, Crane quickly absorbed her dislike of him. He even understood it to a certain extent. He had injured her friend and must therefore be a scoundrel in her eyes.

'Mrs. McQueen.' He bowed slightly. 'I would like to speak to Katrina, if I may.'

Sapphire was unsettled by his adherence to good manners, and ushered him inside.

From the hallway, Crane saw Katrina standing in the conservatory, her hands idly brushing the tips of a rosemary plant. As he regarded her, he felt his former love for her to be as strange and remote as a foreign country. Although he had a sense of nostalgia and regret for the life they had once shared and lost, he felt secure in his love for Abbie.

'Katrina.'

It was her eyes that he registered first, wide and green and fresh with hurt. His heart clenched as he beheld her, a wave of sadness crashing over him. The moment passed as quickly as it arrived, reminding him of the reason for his visit. He had come to question Katrina about the mass murder that had taken place in the forest. Not for a moment did he suspect his estranged wife of involvement, but he knew he would have to temper his natural sympathy for her.

'Ichabod – what a pleasure to see you.'

As Crane stepped into the conservatory, the fragrance of roses wafted through the air. It filled his nostrils with a scent that was inimitably feminine.

'How have you been? Might I offer you something?'

The simplicity of Katrina's concern for him was heartrending. 'No thank you. I have come on a matter of business.' He cringed at the formality of his words, but quickly recollected his need to distance himself from her.

'Please.' Katrina gestured to a couch nearby. 'I will try to help you in any way I can.'

Crane calmly informed her about the murder scene they had encountered that morning. He saw her grimace as he described some of the grislier details, concluding that she was either innocent or a phenomenal actress.

'Such violence speaks of dark magic,' Katrina said thoughtfully. 'I have not sensed any such power, but I have been much distracted lately. This mage has clearly managed to cloak themselves from my sight.'

'Or mages,'Crane considered. 'Perhaps this person did not act alone.'

Katrina's face lit up with excitement. 'There have long been rumours of a dark coven in Sleepy Hollow. Other than Serilda of Abaddon, I have never had proof that they existed. Perhaps this is a harbinger of the next horseman of the Apocalypse.'

There was a comforting familiarity in their interactions. Crane was painfully reminded of what a good team they used to be. He felt the need to clear the air.

'I am sorry, Katrina,' he said earnestly. 'Not for what I did, but for the way it happened. I failed to consider your bewilderment and confusion at this unfamiliar world. The differences between us should not have blunted my compassion for you. I ought to have known better.'

Katrina smiled ruefully. 'You were not solely to blame. I was flattered by Washington's trust in me, enraptured by the idea of my role in the war. I realise that my powers as a witch made me arrogant and puffed up. I was not open with you, Ichabod. If I had the chance again, I would do things every differently.'

She looked out across the garden, tears catching in her lashes. She wrung her hands distractedly. 'I hate this place, Ichabod, this time…' she said in a small voice. 'I miss our home, our friends.'

For the first time, Crane understood how utterly alone Katrina was. Aside from Sapphire, she had no other friends in the town. Everything she had done had been for his sake, for the sake of their mission. Her actions were misguided, not malicious. Perhaps he should not have blamed her so harshly for her half-truths and evasions.

'When I first awoke in this time, all I hoped for was to be reunited with you,'he confessed. 'Then one day we were back together again, but somehow I felt farther away from you than ever.'

She met his gaze with a look of frankness that was disarming. 'Relationships must be tended to. Perhaps we both might have tried harder.'

Crane felt a creeping sense of discomfort. He knew that this conversation was the closing chapter in the story of his marriage. At the same time, he felt closer to Katrina than he had in a long time, perhaps ever.

* * *

><p>By the time Crane opened the front door of the cabin, his confusion had not abated. A few hours ago, he had been so sure of his feelings. He still knew that his marriage was over, that his future belonged with Abbie. At the same time, old feelings for Katrina had been uncovered by his visit. He felt dizzy with confusion.<p>

'Hey.' Abbie wandered into the living room. 'You were gone a while.' She wandered up to him and offered her lips for a kiss.

He gave her a chaste peck and turned to remove his coat. 'Katrina seemed completely ignorant of the crime. She has agreed to help us uncover the identity of the perpetrators.'

Abbie looked at him sceptically, unnerved by his cool demeanour. 'Ok. The autopsies revealed that the victims died from asphyxiation, having inhaled over three litres of wood ash. It's being sold to the media as a mass suicide, but Reyes wants us to deal with the case as expeditiously as possible.'

'Understood, Lieutenant.' He swallowed nervously.

'Crane, what the hell happened with Katrina?' She didn't mean to sound so blunt, but she needed to know what was going on. She didn't trust Katrina, and knew that Crane was a soft touch when it came to his former wife. Not to mention that she wasn't nearly so sure of Katrina's innocence as Crane seemed to be.

'Matters were aired between us… I feel that we have reached a mutual understanding regarding the past.'

Abbie began to feel a growing sense of alarm. 'What does that mean, Crane?' she asked evenly.

Crane sat down in exhaustion. 'I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.'

'You're reconsidering us, aren't you?' Abbie was awash with an odd sense of calm, of resignation. From the beginning, the realisation of their love seemed like a dream, like a spell that had been woven over the two of them. Whenever reality threatened to shatter their beautiful illusion, that magical tie bound them together even more tightly than before.

It seemed that the spell was about to be shattered forever.

'Abbie,' Crane looked up at her from his hunched position on the couch. 'I'm so confused. I feel as if I don't know myself.'

He appeared diminished somehow, a bowed and broken form of the proud man that she had loved. Shocked by his demeanour, she reached over and touched his forehead. His skin felt like fire.

'Crane!' she exclaimed. 'You're sick.'

He groaned, sinking further down into the couch. Suddenly, he whipped his head up, fixing her with a look of almost animal ferocity. 'Get away from me, witch!' he snarled.

In a flash, he was himself again. His face was covered with shame. 'Forgive me, I… I don't know what is happening to me.'

'It's Katrina, isn't it?' Abbie said with fury. 'She's done something to you!'

Her phone buzzed and Abbie saw Jenny's name on the screen. 'Jenny, thank God you called. It's Crane – he's sick. I think Katrina's put some kind of spell on him.'

'Katrina? Abbie, I don't think that's possible.' Jenny sounded oddly defensive.

'Why not?' Abbie's attention was divided between Jenny and Crane, whose face looked wan and clammy.

'Because she's here with me now. We're at the Archives.'

Abbie felt her heartrate increase. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, a rare sign of pure intuition. She felt certain that something horrible was about to happen.

'We've found out some stuff that might be related to the murders. It's pretty shocking and it's not what you think. You guys need to get down here.'

There was a moment of silence as Abbie simultaneously processed what was being said and what was happening before her eyes.

'Jenny, get over here now.'

'Abbie, what…?'

'Get over here and bring Katrina. Crane's unconscious.'


	6. Chapter 6

Katrina burst through the cabin door without pausing, a liberty Abbie would have objected to had she not been so distracted.

'How is he?' Katrina demanded. 'Is he worse?'

Jenny trailed behind her, a quizzical expression on her face. If Abbie didn't know better, she would say that her tough, hard-as-nails sister looked scared.

Katrina entered the bedroom at speed, only to stop dead at the sight of Crane. He lay barely conscious on the bed, his skin pallid, his breathing laboured.

'Ichabod…' Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Abbie could hear the sound of genuine distress in her quiet tones. She placed her hands in the air above the supine figure before slowly moving them down his body.

Abbie was sorely tempted to snatch the other woman's hands away. There was something so intimate about Katrina's actions that it tore at her heart. Once more she felt like an intruder, like the other woman. She tried to remind herself that Crane belonged to her now, but there was no much of his life that was still tangled up with Katrina.

She quickly realised that whatever the witch was doing was going to take a while. She turned to Jenny, who was still looking shaken and stunned, and led her back into the living room.

'What were you talking about on the phone?'

Jenny immediately opened the fridge and rifled about for a beer. 'I was looking for information about those people in the forest – ties to occult activities, anything that would give a clue as to why they were murdered. Katrina suggested I look in the records of Ephraim Machin, an 18th-century scientist and diarist in Sleepy Hollow.'

She popped the lid off her beer and took a long drink. 'He was also interested in alchemy and occult activities. He wrote about two covens in the town – one allied to the cause of good and one to evil.'

Abbie sighed impatiently. 'We know about this already. How does this help Crane?'

'This is bigger than Crane, Abbie, bigger than all of us.' Jenny looked older somehow, more serious than Abbie had ever seen her. 'What happened in the woods was a final showdown between the two covens. The evil side has arisen, they've recruited, and now they're more powerful than ever before.'

Abbie felt strangely calm. Despite the gravity of what her sister had just told her, she felt no urge to panic. Years of compartmentalising her feelings allowed her to adapt to strange circumstances with disturbing ease. She had adjusted to Ichabod Crane's arrival, just has she had become accustomed to the bizarre events that had become her life's work. All these things she had taken in her stride. Surely this was no different.

'Abbie?'

She heard Jenny's voice in the distance, pulling her back to reality.

'You okay, Ab?'

There was something missing – one essential keystone that had kept her from falling apart on a daily basis. Crane had been her sounding board, her touchstone, her other half long before she had any inkling of it. She felt his illness like a knife in her heart. Crane had fallen in battle; he had been struck down on her watch. Abbie felt stuck, incapable of action or forward propulsion. She was utterly powerless, and the feeling was devastating.

Jenny saw the hollow terror in her sister's eyes. When they were kids, it was always Abbie who had offered words of comfort, who had shielded her from harm. Now she saw the need to step into Abbie's shoes and act the protector. She reached forward and grabbed her sister's shoulders.

'It's going to be okay, Abbie. We'll figure it out, just like always.'

'Promise?' The vulnerability in Abbie's voice was heartbreaking.

'Promise,' Jenny said with more conviction than she felt.

Katrina emerged from the bedroom, her face blank as her hands fidgeted with her skirt.

'So?' Jenny enquired. 'What's the matter with him?'

'He has been placed under a spell.' Katrina's shuddered, her face clouded with an unnamed fear. 'It is the one forbidden charm, the one that spells death for any witch found guilty of casting it. It was designed to capture the most dangerous, most elusive magic…'

Katrina looked directly at Abbie, a curious look about her lovely features. 'It is a love spell. The most difficult and dangerous of all. Even the most skilled witch cannot cast it successfully. Love is a mysterious agent – neither reason nor will can prevent us from falling into its embrace.'

There was a moment of intense silence as Katrina's eyes bore deeply into Abbie's. There was anger there, but slowly it faded into something like understanding – even acceptance. 'It happens involuntarily – we cannot help ourselves. Trying to force love upon another person through magic robs them of their free will… their very identity.'

Abbie could feel a cold, clammy sensation at the base of her spine as the knot of tension in her stomach coiled ever tighter. 'What does this mean for Crane?' she asked through gritted teeth.

'The spell manifests itself as a kind of emotional amnesia. Slowly, his attachment to one person will begin to unravel and fix itself to another.'

'Wait a second,' Jenny interjected. 'Are you saying that _someone_ put a spell on Crane to fall out of love with Abbie and in love with you?'

Katrina's head dropped into her chest. 'Yes,' she whispered.

'How convenient,' Jenny muttered.

'I had nothing to do with this, I assure you,' Katrina protested. 'And I will do everything I can to try and reverse it.'

'And what if you don't?' Abbie asked quietly, fearfully. 'Tell me the truth.'

'At the rising of the next moon, Crane will have irrevocably forgotten his feelings for you. All emotional ties between you will be severed. It will be as if you never knew him.'

Abbie stood in shock and horror as she absorbed Katrina's words. So much had happened in the last few hours that she felt untethered, as if she was disappearing. Everything became distant and out of focus, but she could faintly hear Katrina and Jenny talking among themselves.

'Jennifer, it is imperative that you take me somewhere immediately. Please ask me no questions. Time is of the essence.'

'What about Crane?'

'I've put him to sleep for a while. The rest will calm his fever, but we must hurry.'

They were gone before Abbie was aware of it. Numbly, she wandered into the bedroom and sat down beside Crane, now resting peacefully. She wanted to cry but felt completely empty inside.

'Crane,' she whispered. 'You won't forget me, will you?'

Somehow, against her knowledge and even her will, he had worked his way into her life and made himself indispensable. Surely that had to leave a mark? If not through the vows they had made, then by everything they had been through together. Somehow the aggregate of all the dangers they had overcome – the number of times they had walked through fire for each other – surely that must amount to something more tangible than memory?

'Abbie…'

Crane's voice was weak, but it was as familiar and as necessary to Abbie as her own heartbeat. Hearing it sent a flood of warmth through her body.

'I'm here, Crane.' She held his hand tightly. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'A songbird flew to me in a dream… It flew to my hand and I felt myself possessed of a strange and powerful magic. Its tiny heart fluttered against my breast and I heard its precious song… I know better now… I have learned that it is wrong to keep a songbird caged. I must let it fly free.'

Abbie felt a sense of profound hopelessness. It was immediately twinned with a determination to set this right. Crane had put himself on the line for her too many times to let him give up now. She had to do everything in her power to fight for him – for them both.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered. 'My name is Abbie Mills – Grace Abigail Mills, but you call me Lieutenant. We're Witnesses to the Apocalypse, but more than that, we're partners… we're friends. But somehow along the way, we fell in love. Even if you can't find that part in your memory, remember the other parts. Remember that I'm your Abbie, and I'll always be here for you, no matter what.'

The front door slammed open at that moment, and in walked Katrina and Jenny. Behind them they dragged Sapphire McQueen.

Abbie launched herself at the woman, but Jenny swiped her away with one arm.

'You did this!' Abbie shouted. 'You're responsible for this, you bitch!'

'I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!' Sapphire whimpered. 'I only wanted to make things right.'

Katrina's head snapped up and she turned to her former friend. 'Right? You have used the arts I have shown you against the man I love. You have sinned against nature!'

'I did it for you – for you both! I saw what she did.' Sapphire looked at Abbie with pure malice. 'If it wasn't for her you'd still be together. So I asked her for a spell. I thought I could fix things.'

'Asked who?' Abbie demanded.

Sapphire stood in sullen silence. Suddenly, Katrina reached forward and grabbed her face with one hand. 'You owe me an answer, Sapphire. Tell me who helped you cast the spell!'

'The lady…' Sapphire stammered. 'The head of the coven – she gave me the draught and taught me how to work the charm.'

'Her name!' Katrina's voice was quiet yet full of menace. 'Tell us her name.'

Sapphire shook from head to foot. 'It's Sheriff Reyes,' she blurted out. 'She's the one in charge.'


End file.
